


All Our Past Mistakes

by Eilinelithil



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: AU, Accidental Voyeurism, Angst, Assault, Child Neglect, Dubious Consent, Extramarital Affairs, F/M, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Past Rape/Non-con, Rape/Non-con Elements, Smut, Teacher-Student Relationship, non cursed storybrooke
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-26
Updated: 2021-02-22
Packaged: 2021-02-26 06:20:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 13,546
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21978727
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eilinelithil/pseuds/Eilinelithil
Summary: Doctor Gold, professor of history at the local campus of Maine University, is stuck in a loveless, and one might say abusive relationship with a wife who is less than attentive to their family, and whom he suspects cares little for her marital vows. His resolve to maintain his own faithfullness is sorely tested by the presence of one of his new students - a junior by the name of Belle French - whom it seems fate is determined to put in his way. The two become embroiled in a passionate, and redemptive relationship, but not before suffering numerous setbacks and separations.  This is no instantaneous happy ever after, but a tale of two hurt souls finding their way together through darkness and despair.
Relationships: Belle/Gaston (Once Upon a Time), Belle/Rumplestiltskin | Mr. Gold, Milah/Rumplestiltskin | Mr. Gold
Comments: 133
Kudos: 60





	1. Gathering Storm

**Author's Note:**

> So, see, I told you I was no good at one shots. I was given a smut filled prompt by 'anon' involving an accident with an iPhone and Facetime. This fic is the result. Be patient, it'll be a while. Also if anyone wants to throw prompts at me for the road along the way... feel free - either here or on Tumblr. All are welcome.

A sudden flash of lightning illuminated the back patio for just a second revealing the outdoor furniture, the potted plants on the patio’s edge, and the neat line of bushes beyond that formed a kind of avenue to the grassy area that was surrounded by flower beds. Gold counted silently, barely reaching three before the rolling thunder almost shook the house, and definitely rattled the windows in their frames. It wouldn’t be long before the rain followed, and knowing Storybrooke when it began, it would be persistent and soaking.

With a sigh, he put down his pen on the blotter and not on the assignment he was currently grading, got up, and went in search of his wife on the way through to the back door. He could have forgiven her if she were with Bastion; bathing him or putting him to bed, but Bae was long since sleeping.

He reached the bottom of the stairs, and stopped for a moment in the doorway to the lounge, and watched for a moment as Milah sat with her feet up on the antique couch, with her laptop perched on the coffee table, a plate of cookies balanced on the arm of the couch and a hot cup of coffee - still steaming - held resting against her knee. She was watching some god-awfully inaccurate medieval fantasy romance; complete drivel, and was totally ignoring the world around her - as usual.

“I take it you didn’t hear that oh-so-subtle rumble of thunder that just burst practically on top of the house,” he said sarcastically. “You  _ have  _ been teaching Bae about the weather, right? And how rain is  _ really _ bad for patio furniture cushions left out in it?”

Milah looked round at him, her expression blank. No, not blank, bored. He raised an eyebrow, and she leaned forward and practically slapped the space bar on the laptop hard enough to drive it thought the coffee table. Gold winced inwardly - sooner or later that was another bill he’d have to pay. Still, he stood silently waiting until his wife threw up her hands.

“Jesus Christ!” she spat at him. “I sit down for five minues and this is what I get?” She started to scoot forward on the couch. “Would it kill  _ you  _ to  _ do _ something around here every once in a while?”

“Because of course,” he answered, his voice, measured, but his accent thickening as his anger began fuelling his sarcasm. “I’ve nothing else to be doing, like… work or anything.”

“Oh, so we’re going down  _ that _ road again are we?” Milah rolled her eyes at him, “Fine, I’ll get the fucking cushions in… satisfied?”

She dropped her feet to the floor, and took a breath as she always did, in preparation for getting up, as if it were some kind of difficult task, a monumental effort of some kind. He waited until the moment she prized her arse off of his couch - and yes it  _ was _ his couch - before he said, “No, no, no. Please don’t get up. I’m downstairs now, and I’m sure I can manage four whole chair cushions without breaking a sweat.”

He turned and started to move away, but then turned back, pointing her way as though he had just remembered something important he needed to tell her, just as she settled back into the couch more comfortably, and was leaning forward toward the space bar, to start her ridiculous show over again.

“There is  _ one _ thing you can do for me though,” he said mildly, holding his impassive expression as she turned her head to see what it was he wanted. His expression changed then; from mild to the expression that spoke of his unceasing irritation with her as he said, “Keep your fucking feet off the furniture!”

He walked away then, ignoring her spluttering cries of indignation and demands that he shouldn’t dare speak to her that way and headed for the doorway that led out onto the patio.

It had already started to rain by the time he got outside. Huge fat drops that blew about in the gusting wind. He could already tell that it was going to be quite some storm. It didn’t take long before the rain began soaking through his shirt, leaving it sticking to his chest as he wrestled the cushion from the patio chairs into the small shed that was tucked away in the corner of the back yard. Inconspicuous… out of the way. He also took the time to secure some of the loose items in the garden. With the wind as it was, he didn’t want anything blowing around and causing damage to the property, so by the time he made his way inside, he was soaked through to the skin.

He paused in the kitchen, noticing, entirely without surprise that Milah hadn’t bothered to wash the dishes from dinner either. His jaw tightened still further in irritation. Without bothering to do more than roll up his already soaked sleeves, he set about the job himself, and once he was finished, and the dishes drying in the rack, he made his way back up the stairs without a word to Milah.

He still had papers to grade, and it was going to be a very late night. He almost pitied his students. They would have to deal, not only with their own usual Monday blues, but also an exhausted and irritable professor.

* * *

Belle lay on her back, propped up on her pillows, listening to the wind and the rain, and the rumbles of thunder. It was distracting her reading; a chapter from the textbook for the history course she had added to her studies on the advice of her guidance counsellor - to give herself another avenue of opportunity after finishing her degree. She didn’t  _ need _ the extra credits the two year history specialism, in addition to her library sciences major, would grant her, but she had always been interested in ‘how the world ticked’ as she was fond of expressing it, so it seemed the perfect way to answer some of those questions that were lingering in her mind.

Speaking of lingering, questions were not the only things. 

She set down the history book, sighing at her lack of concentration, and knowing that at some point before the morning’s lecture she would  _ need _ to finish the chapter, because heading into a lecture, and certainly the later seminar with Doctor Gold  _ without _ preparation was an absolute recipe for disaster.

Most of his students either despised or feared him, suffering his classes because they were a requirement for their graduation. Not Belle.

She could never have said when the feelings began, and it had only been scant few weeks since the beginning of the history course brought her into contact with him, but more and more she would notice that her heart would beat more quickly and a certain breathlessness would take a hold of her whenever she was on her way into his lecture hall, and an absolute quivering nervous ache if the day’s schedule brought her to the seminar room for class. She berated herself almost daily. At twenty-one she was  _ far _ too old for a crush. Crushes were things that happened in high school, not in college… and yet she could not deny the attraction, and the response to his presence that came over her whenever she was near to him.

He was condescending, bordering on rude, sarcastic, and an utter stickler for detail, but Belle found herself wanting to get to know him as much as she could, and longed for him to notice  _ her  _ \- even if it wasn’t right.

She sighed softly, denying the heat and the ache that had begun growing between her thighs the longer she thought of Doctor Gold, and reached for her headphones. If she could drown out the sound of the storm - a storm which felt as though it were inside of her as well as out of doors - then perhaps she would be able to concentrate; read the chapter, make notes, and think of questions to ask during Monday’s lecture.


	2. Fight or Flight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger Warning in this chapter for unwelcome attentions and touching. It is only an instant in which Gaston, who clearly has history with Belle, thinks that history gives him permission to take liberties, but it is enough for me to want to warn. (If you want to avoid the moment in the fic, do not read the short section marked with bold asterisks before and after.

The day began as the last had ended, with a fight. Gold was already cutting it fine, having stayed up far too late to get the last of the papers graded, and thereafter sleeping poorly, so his mood was, as he suspected it would be, less than stellar. When Milah’s cell phone sounded the annoying screech of seagulls to indicate an incoming text message, what followed was just icing on the shitcake.

“Can’t you just have a regular ‘ping’ like any  _ normal _ person?” he snapped, reaching for the phone, but Milah snatched it up before he could catch a hold of it.

“Mind your own fucking business!” Milah growled, idly swiping the phone’s screen as she stuffed another piece of toast into her mouth.

Gold bristled. Not because he really cared about who was texting his wife, despite his growing suspicions, but because of the language she chose to use knowing their son was nearby.

Before he could remind her - for the hundredth time or more - to watch her mouth in front of Bae, she looked up at him and said, “You’ll have to drop Bastion at school today. I have to be some place.”

“Milah…!” he started, but she cut him off.

“Don’t  _ Milah _ me. It’s not as if it’s out of your way. You have to drive right past the school to get to work,” she said. “Besides, if I have to endure one more morning of sideways glances, and badly concealed whispers behind hands for being saddled with the town’s relic for a husband and a kid that’s already failing in first grade, like some kind of--”

Gold had pushed back his chair, his face contorted with anger before he even knew what he was doing, seething with it, a deep purple mist surrounding everything he could see. His face twisted into an ugly snarl as he leaned down, one hand supporting himself on the kitchen table, the other, finger extended to barely a breath away from Milah’s face.

“If you ever,  _ ever _ speak of Bae that way again, so help me--”

Milah taunted him even as he spoke, “You’ll what? You going to lay a hand on me now?”

“I swear to God, you are trying my very last  _ ounce  _ of patience,” he growled in a low, dangerous voice. “I’ll take Bae, and then I’m going to work, and if I find that you’ve been blowing off our son, and your parental responsibilities for some frivolous, selfish indulgences, you’ll have more than just sideways glances and badly concealed whispers to deal with.”

He pushed away from the table then, calling through to the other room, where their son had gone to play after finishing his breakfast, thankfully - for the moment at least - blissfully ignorant to the rapidly devolving relationship his parents suffered.

“Come on, Bae, time to go!”

He picked up his briefcase, and the bundle of papers he habitually carried under his arm, and started for the doorway as he heard his Bae scrambling to gather his things and come out into the hallway.

“You haven’t got the balls!” Milah spat at his retreating back. “Oh, and don’t wait up. I probably won’t be back until late.”

Gold ignored her attempt to bait him and ruffling his son’s hair as the young boy turned an adoring look up at him, told him softly, “Go say goodbye to your mother.”

He waited as Bae trotted obediently to the kitchen to give Milah a somewhat reluctant hug and a kiss equally so, before hurrying back to slip his hand into Gold’s and began chattering all the way to the car.

* * *

Belle made sure she arrived early for the morning’s lecture so that she could have her pick of the seats in the lecture hall. She didn’t want to sit at the very front, that was far too obvious, she thought, and screamed ‘notice me.’ Nor did she want to be at the back. That would be far too far away. She wouldn’t be able to see Doctor Gold properly, and if she’d learned anything in the first few introductory weeks, it was that the history professor’s facial expressions, his gestures and his body language were as much a part of his lectures as his words and slides and multi-media sections of his presentations. 

So, she settled on a seat in the middle of the lecture hall. Not exactly dead center, but a little off to the left, looking down toward the lecture area. Satisfied with her place, she began unpacking her things, her notepad and pencils, highlighter, preferring handwritten notes to those typed on a laptop, or worse yet, notes transcribed from a digital recording of the lecture itself. In her opinion, students were taking far too many liberties using modern technologies.

Down in the pit of the lecture hall, one of the rear doors opened, and Belle found herself blushing slightly as Doctor Gold made his way to the lectern, and the table that stood beside it, and began unpacking papers and books, and other prop items onto the top of it, as he prepared. She found herself watching the way he moved, the way the perfectly tailored suit flowed with him as if it were a part of him, becoming lost in half formed thoughts and rebellious feelings.  _ No crushing _ she’d promised herself, but then and there, in full possession of self knowledge, she  _ knew _ it wasn’t a crush.

The bounce of the seat at her side startled her, and she gasped softly as she came out of her inner thoughts. She tensed, her muscles becoming almost rigid as the voice that followed the sudden movement of the seat was more than a little recognizable to her; recognizable and unwelcome.

“Well, if it isn’t my little Belle.” She shivered as Wes Gaston’s mocking tones rolled over her. “I had no idea we were sharing a history class.”

“We’re not sharing  _ anything, _ ” she managed to force past her all but paralysed jaw. “You need to leave me alone.”

He clearly ignored the latter half of her sentence and continued to mock her as he continued, “Well, for someone  _ not _ sharing my history class,  _ someone’s _ keen… here so early and all.”

*****  
*****

He reached out a hand and slipped it unbidden onto the top of her thigh as he turned toward her, his other arm resting along the top of the table of row behind - almost, but not quite touching Belle.

Belle bit off a strangled sound, the hard work of the better part of a year undone in a single instant.  _ You’re stronger than this… you don’t have to allow him near… _ she chanted the words to herself inside her head over and over, but the panic was taking hold, adrenaline and the urge for flight rising as his unwelcome touch continued.

“Never did understand why you broke it off,” he purred, leaning closer, “After all, we were getting on so--”

*****  
*****

“Mister Gaston!”

Belle jumped so much at the sound of Doctor Gold’s voice, coming not from the front of the lecture hall, but from the row in front, that she banged her knee on the support of the desk, and managed to take a breath as, almost as quickly, Gaston pulled away from her.

“Front and center please, young man,” Doctor Gold continue, his tone brooking no argument; no nonsense as he continued, “I like my academic probationers where I can see them.” And he stood, hands folded in front of him, his eyes fixed on Gaston until he picked up his bag, and began to slide along the row toward the end of it, and descended the steps heading for the front row.

“If you need a moment,” and it took Belle a moment to realize that Doctor Gold was speaking to  _ her _ . His voice was entirely different: gentle, patient, full of concern. She looked at him as he finished, “you’re free to step outside. I’ll be sure to watch your things until you return. Take as long as you need.” 

As the fog of the effects of Gaston’s behavior, both then and… before began to fade, Belle realized that Gold was probably right. She should take a moment to remove herself from the proximity of her trigger, compose herself, allow herself to regain her strength and self-confidence enough to return to the present, but  _ be _ present in her history class and not stuck in the past.

“Thank you,” she said, and began to rise. “Doctor Gold, that’s very kind of you.”

“Not at all, Miss French,” he said with a smile, and remained still as she began to shuffle along toward the end of the row. “And… why don’t you use the top exit?” he suggested, gesturing toward the door at the upper right side of the lecture hall. She nodded, and swallowing, made her way there, taking deep breaths of air that felt fresher the further she moved away from Gaston.

Once outside, she stood with her back to the wall, her head tipped backwards, facing into the sun and letting its rays wash her clean. She was as angry with  _ herself  _ as she was with Gaston, perhaps more so, even though she knew she shouldn’t be. What had happened was  _ not _ her fault. It was his. Everything she’d suffered since was  _ his _ fault, and she was stronger than that. She didn’t have to give in to the lingering fears and mangled emotions she still felt.

Acknowledge them… feel them… and let them go.

She took another deep breath, and pushed away from the wall, at last ready to return to the lecture hall, once more looking forward to hearing how Doctor Gold would begin the module on Ancient History. And then, as she began to return making her way back to her seat, she couldn’t help but cringe inwardly.

Doctor Gold. This was  _ not _ the way she wanted him to notice her. With a sigh, she took her seat, and pulled her notepad toward her, trying not to let the blush rise in her cheeks as he met her eyes for the briefest of moments while finishing addressing a procedural question of one of the other students.

“And now,” he said quietly, “We may begin.”

As he paused and took a breath to do just that, Belle glanced down at the first page of her notepad. There in a neat and flowing hand was written,  _ My office door is always open. SG. _

She looked back up at Gold, who in that moment began the lecture. “Where would you start if I asked you to tell me your story…?”


	3. Place Of Safety

Gold set the phone down and sat back in his seat with a sigh. Several days, several hours of his free time each day spent on calls to the numerous doctors and specialists that had assessed Bae for what might be causing his problems at school. No one could tell him anything - nothing that he didn’t already know, in any case. The boy was unhappy; insecure.

“Can’t think why…” he murmured to himself, sarcasm heavy as he picked up his cell phone and dialled Milah’s number. As before, in fact for the sixth time that day, the call went straight to voicemail, and he growled in irritation as he listened to the cheerful message she had recorded that was basically a giant ‘fuck off.’

His patience snapped.

“Milah, this is serious bullshit, you realize that, right? I’ve only been trying to get an answer from you since ten this morning. Would it kill you to even acknowledge that I called? What the fuck could you possibly be doing that’s more important than our son? Call. Me. This isn’t a game.”

He threw the phone down on his desk, and stood up then, heading for the small hallway at the back of his office that led to the bathroom he shared with the rest of the faculty on the block. He splashed water on his face, holding his eyes closed for longer than necessary before drying himself on the paper towel.

Afterwards, he stood leaning on the basin, staring unseeing into the mirror, his mind picking through the many unpleasant thoughts and suspicions that had been growing about his wife; his relationship with his wife - if he could even be considered to still  _ have _ a relationship with her, as little time as they actually spent together and as little as she seemed to even  _ want _ to be a part of the family. What was it she’d called him? The town relic? What the hell did that even mean anyway?

“Looks like the face of a troubled man.”

He turned his head to see Jeff Hauter leaning against the doorway, looking at him with concern. Hauter was probably the only one he’d consider a friend, and was certainly the only one he’d ever spoken with about the trouble that was escalating at home.

“Since when have I looked any other way lately?” he asked dryly.

Hauter looked thoughtful for a second, before he answered, “Week ago last Tuesday maybe?” He let a lazy grin spread over his face before continuing, “When that bozo tried to get an extension after he missed your class with a lame-ass excuse?”

Gold chuckled, entirely without humour, a predatory glint entering his eyes at the memory, but it soon faded, and he asked, “Other than my poorest students gifting me with an outlet for my frustration?”

“Hmm,” Hauter peeled himself from the doorway, and “That would probably be a never. What is it this time?”

“What is it ever?” Gold answered with a question.

“Seriously, Gold,” Hauter said, “You have got--” he cut himself off at Gold’s withering look via the mirror, then after a pause, said, “Well, here’s something guaranteed to add to the cheer of your day…”

“Oh?”

“Yeah. There’s a student waiting for you in your office.”

Gold frowned. He wasn’t expecting anyone. Of course, that wasn’t to say that none of his students ever dropped in unannounced. There were the odd few that actually cared enough about their studies in history to come and ask questions, or for suggested texts that they could read to enhance their knowledge.

“Well then,” he said when he couldn’t think of any reason for  _ any  _ of those he could think of to come and see him on that particular day. “I suppose I’d better go and see what they want.”

  
  
  


Belle had one more class left until she could go home, and frankly if she hadn’t been such a diligent student, she might just have skipped the class, feigning illness, and given up on what had been a really shitty day.

She was disappointed with herself for the way she had freaked out before the history lecture, but more so for the way she felt like she had been walking around on eggshells all day, jumping at shadows.

She hadn’t realized quite how badly seeing Gaston had affected her until she saw him again later in the day, standing with his band of hangers on, the whole lot of them blocking the way between where she was, and the hallway that led to the library. She stopped dead in her tracks, and of course  _ that _ brought attention to her, and the not-so-subtle nudging of each other, and pointed whispers became blatantly obvious comments, and mostly of the suggestive kind.

Blushing to the tips of her ears, and feeling her eyes stinging with tears that she fought to hold inside, her belly knotted, and writhed with the urge to relieve itself of the meager lunch she’d been able to stomach, Belle turned and fled, hearing Gaston’s shouts of, “Oh, Belle… c’mon…!” following her down the hallway, and not really registering where her feet were taking her until she found herself in the history faculty hallway and outside of Doctor Gold’s office.

Still not secure that she hadn’t been followed, she knocked quietly at the door, and although there was no answer, slipped inside anyway.

_ My office door is always open. S.G. _

He wasn’t there, but a quick look at his desk, with all his personal effects still in place told her that he hadn’t gone far, and filled her with a silent, rebellious hope that he would soon return. She closed the door behind her. If Gaston or any one of his idiot cronies had followed, not one of them would  _ dare _ to enter a professor’s office, especially not while intending to harass another student. Still, she turned to peer almost fearfully through the frosted glass of the door, back out into the hallway beyond.


	4. Acting On Impulse

Gold was momentarily surprised, if not a little troubled as he returned to his office to find Belle French standing uncomfortably in his office. She was shifting from foot to foot, facing back into the corridor, and looking at the door as though it was going to bite her.

“Miss French?” he said softly, finding himself more troubled as she jumped, visibly, and spun around to face him. He found his heart delayed in a beat for just a moment and it took him a moment to compose himself before he asked, “Is everything all right?”

“I… Doctor Gold, I…” she stammered before seemingly pulling herself together again, and she said more clearly, “I just needed a moment out of the hallway. I didn’t think you’d… mind?”

“No, of course not.” he told her, offering her a half smile as he slipped behind his desk and he gestured to the chair across from him. “Please, have a seat. I did tell you that my office door was always open.”

She nodded, and he couldn’t help but notice the slight flush that crept to color her cheeks as she murmured her thanks.

“Not at all,” he said, and fell silent as she moved and all but dropped into the chair. He could only suspect that she was avoiding someone in the hallway, and it wasn’t too much of a stretch to assume that that someone was Wes Gaston. He watched as she took a deep breath. For his part, he leaned on his desk, steepling his fingers together in front of his face content to wait for her to gain some composure.

She had not been his student for long, but he found that he enjoyed her participation in his classes, but this new development disturbed him more than he cared to admit. He felt a sudden rush of protectiveness. There was more than that, however, something that sparked an awareness that was far more personal, and more than a little less appropriate. With her sitting there before him, her creamy skin still bearing the faint hint of a blush, he felt his belly tighten as he realized how beautiful she was. He took a deep breath to banish all but the most protective of feelings, he reached into his desk drawer to take out one of Archie Hopper’s business cards. Much as the man annoyed and frustrated him personally, he had to concede that Doctor Hopper was a more than adequate therapist, and just in case the young woman sitting in front of him had the need for someone professional to speak with, he was prepared to pass on the information. He slid the card across the desk toward Belle a little way. 

“Might I make an observation?” he asked quietly.

She nodded, but not without drawing her lip between her teeth, and he felt the resurgent stirrings of attractions down low in his belly, but also, he began to put together unwelcome pieces of the events of the day. The observation hovering in his mind were even more unwelcome.

“You seem rather more troubled by Mister Gaston’s actions this morning than a simple overbearing advance by a classmate would suggest.” He reached forward again and slid the business card closer to her, this time without removing his touch from the card beneath his fingertips. “If you’d like to talk about it…” He tapped the business card lightly before sitting back again. “He’s not connected with the University, if that makes things any easier.”

“Oh,” she said. “No, Doctor Gold, thank you, but I… I already spoke to someone… when it first happened.” 

The anger he’d been trying to hold at bay over his creeping suspicions flared brightly as she confirmed the fear he’d be harboring, and he had to fight not to react too strongly. Miss French, however, shrugged a little, her face flushing brightly, and she tucked a strand of hair away from her face. She took the card though, and he felt just a little relieved, and nodding, gave her the best, gentle smile he could muster.

“I just… I didn’t… Well, it was a bit of a shock, that’s all.” she went on, and looking almost bashful, raised her eyes to look at him. He softened his expression, trying to let his expression tell her that he would support her, that he cared.

“Assuming I’m not wildly wrong in my assumptions,” he said as soft as his expression was gentle, “then I can’t say I’m surprised.” He paused to take a breath, “I can promise you, however, that I absolutely _will_ _not_ permit him to harass you in my lecture hall nor in our seminars.”

“Thank you,” she said, looking down at her hands. Taking a breath then she looked up at him again and asked, “Since I’m here, Doctor Gold, would it be possible to get a copy of the extra credit assignment and rubric?”

Following her lead with the change in subject, but hoping she had ‘heard’ him, the smile returned to his face. He stood up, noting that she also climbed to her feet. As he crossed to the the file cabinets where the papers he needed were kept, he allowed himself to consider another possibility, though he hesitated, not wanting to impose… among other reasons. Still contemplating, and having retrieved the required papers, he came to lean against his desk and held out the small bundle in her direction.

“I’m glad you elected to complete the assignment, Miss French,” he said. “I think you’ll find it very much to your liking.”

She gave him a faint smile in return. “I look forward to it,” she said, “I should… “ she gestured behind her toward the door.”

* * *

  
  
“Of course,” he agreed, offering the papers once more, and she reached out to take them this time, her fingers over-reaching and brushing against his. He took another breath as the frisson of arousal flashed through him at the contact, and began to reconsider the suggestion he had been about to make.

The swirling that Belle had been feeling in her belly increased, and she felt as though a flash of static had passed between them at the brush of their fingers, not unheard of when the air was dry, but this was unlike any static she had encountered before. It felt like a wave traveling through her, to settle inside her, making her blush and ache at the same time. Her blush increased as she thought she heard Gold take a deeper than usual intake of breath, and tried to cover her own reactions by retrieving one of her binders from the bag she carried and slipping the papers inside.

Glancing up afterwards, she watched him returning to his place behind the desk, and turned away only as he reached his seat and started to lower himself into it. She headed quickly for the door.

“Actually, Miss French…” he began, and she froze, her hand part way to the handle.

“Doctor Gold?” she said, and slowly turned around, her heart in her mouth as she wondered just what had caused him to call her back.

“Have you ever given any thought to working with… younger children? Say… first graders?”

She frowned slightly, and confessed quietly, “I used to, before college, and in my freshman year here, yes.”

She saw him take a breath, then he said, “I’m… My son doesn’t quite seem to have… settled into his class at school this semester. I’m wondering if perhaps… well if you might perhaps be interested in working with him… a little light tutoring…?”

Belle smiled.

“I… would be delighted,” she told him. “Did you have a particular day in mind?”

“Why don’t I call you?” he asked then, coming out from behind the desk again to where she waited beside the door. “Once I’ve spoken with Bastion.”

“All right.” she nodded, then pulled her phone from her pocket and held it out to him. “If you call yourself, you’ll have my number.”

“Thank you, Miss French.” He smiled and, somewhat haltingly, managed to enter his number into her iPhone to make the call, before the phone on his desk began to vibrate. “I’ll be in touch,” he told her then, opening his office door to let her out.

She found herself walking to her last class of the day with a spring in her step, and somewhat reddened cheeks.


	5. Unbidden

The call from the school came at approximately 2:55pm, and it was only as he answered the call that Gold realized that he hadn’t at all been paying attention to all of the implications of Milah’s flip comment telling him not to wait up. He had been too irritated with her to make the connections. As a consequence, poor Bastion was left alone at school once it ended, and he would have to either cancel the rest of his classes for the day, or find someone who wouldn’t mind covering.

The trouble was that he already knew that anyone who might be able to cover had classes of their own, and canceling his own classes really had to be a last resort. Although his son came first before any of his students. He was about to make the call to the admin office to do just that, when a strange notion came into his head, and instead he pulled up the program in which he entered the grades for his students, switched to the _Student Information_ page and pulled up Miss French’s daily schedule. She had study sessions for the remainder of the afternoon.

He slipped on his jacket as he stood up from behind his desk, and snatched up the phone, dialing the number that he knew was Miss French’s number even as he picked up his keys, heading for the library where he suspected he might find her. She answered on the third ring.

“Miss French, it’s Doctor Gold,” he said.

“ _Yes, Doctor Gold. Is everything all right?”_

“Are you in the library?” he asked, already half way there. “I have a favor to ask, and I’d much rather speak to you in person.”

_“Yes, I’m on the second floor, near the Linguistics section,”_ she said.

“Thank you, Miss French,” He said as he pushed open the door to the library’s lower level. “I will see you shortly.”

He cut the call before she had even answered, and then headed for the stairs to the second floor mezzanine, his eyes seeking out the fall of chestnut hair that would lead him to Belle French. He spotted her almost at once, her head bent over a notebook, another weighty text above the notebook from which she was taking notes. The sight, for some reason known only to his subconscious - and which he did not wish to investigate too closely at that moment - took his breath and rendered him momentarily unable to move.

In the next moment, as if she sensed his presence, she lifted her head and turned in her seat.

“Doctor Gold,” she called out to him and waved him over, as though she thought he couldn’t find her. He had no choice but to shake himself out of his sudden stupor and head her way. As he reached her table, he slipped into the seat opposite.

“I’m sorry to disturb your study, Miss French,” he offered, but she smiled and waved his apology away.

“You sounded worried when you called,” she said, “Is something wrong?”

He sighed then, but was at the same time warmed; almost relieved by her perceptiveness. Offering a wry smile he said, “It seems that I somewhat missed that Milah was serious this morning when she said I shouldn’t wait up. It also seems to mean that I should already have collected Bastion from school. For the moment, the school has agreed to let him attend the after school program, on a one off basis, but…”

He watched as Miss French’s face lit up as if he’d just handed her the most wondrous gift, and he ran a hand through his hair at once embarrassed and another, deeper, more forbidden feeling began to sprout and take root in the dark loneliness beneath the surface of his half forgotten psyche.

* * *

Belle listened, frowning to Doctor Gold’s predicament, understanding dawning with each word he spoke.

“…agreed to let him attend the after school program, on a one off basis, but…”

“Oh, but you have class,” she said, and she reached out to close the book from which she was taking notes, “If you need me to go to his school and collect him, I’d be delighted,” she added. “It would give us a chance to get to know one another.”

She saw Gold blink, as if in surprise… or perhaps she had just overwhelmed him with her willingness to help. He also colored. Just a hint of redness in his cheeks, and his eyes grew darker as his pupils opened, drawing a blush from _her_ in return.

“Only if you’re certain you don’t mind,” he murmured, his voice low, with a gravelly undertone.

“Of course not,” she said. “I can pick him up and bring him to your office, if you like.”

But Gold shook his head, and took his keys out of his pocket, slipping one from the key chain and slipping it across the table toward her. “If it wouldn’t be too much of me to ask,” he said, “would you mind taking him home, and staying with him until my classes are done?” He offered her what looked like a hopeful smile, and her belly flipped in response, sending little spirals of charge down between her thighs. The thought of going to Gold’s house filling her with a most… inappropriate kind of longing.

As though he thought her silence indicative of hesitancy, rather than - as she was - the product of trying to catch a hold of her desires before her imagination caught hold of, and ran with them, way too far as they were wont to do, Doctor Gold added, “I’ll pick up dinner on the way home?”

Belle opened her mouth to speak; to agree, but no sound came and she had to clear her throat before trying again.

“That would be lovely,” she said, “And I don’t mind staying with Bastion at all… as long as you need.”

“You’re a life saver,” he told her, and she heard sincerity in his voice, along with something she couldn’t quite identify, or perhaps didn’t dare to in case she was wrong. “It will probably be around seven,” he added. “And um… you’ll need ID at the school. I will give them a call to let them know you’re coming.”

She nodded, and reached for the key he’d placed on the table, at the same time turning her notebook and handing him her pencil. “Write down which school and your address. I’ll go for him right away,” she said, her heart and stomach changing places once again as Doctor Gold began to write.


	6. Motherly Instincts

After Gold had finished his call to the school, he had barely enough time to get his notes together for the next lecture, but still he spent a few of those precious minutes in the futile endeavor of trying to get hold of Milah one more time, fully prepared to leave another blistering message on her voicemail. Consequently, he wasn’t prepared for when she actually picked up.

“Milah,” he started after a moment of silence in which he could hear her sighs of irritation mounting, until she couldn’t contain it any more.

“What the fuck!” she snapped. “Since when do you get to talk to me as if I’m a piece of shit on your shoe? I _told_ you I was going to be out, and not to wait up. I would have thought that so called fucking intellect of yours would have let you figure out that I wasn’t going to be answering my phone and that I didn’t want to be disturbed.” She wasn’t stopping to let Gold get a word in edgewise. “ _Especially_ not if you going to bitch and whine at me about how _I’m_ the problem with what’s going on with Bae, because _you_ won’t accept that you’re boy’s a fucking re—”

“Don’t you _DARE_. Finish. That. Word!” he snarled loudly, cutting her off, and into the silence she left, evidently astounded that he would speak to her in such a threatening manner; the way she almost began spluttering indignantly after a moment or two, he finished, “I called you out of courtesy to let you know what the doctors have said, but since you don’t seem to be interested—”

“No,” she spat. “No, you know what? I’m not. I’m not at all interested in any bullshit they’re going to spout, especially not when you have them eating out of your hand. So no - fuck you _and_ your doctors. I know that what’s really going in is all in his head, so you can deal with this on your own, instead of saddling me with the homework, the tantrums, and the tears, and the wet beds. And just to remind you, I won’t be home tonight. In fact I don’t know _when_ I’ll be back. Could be tomorrow, a few days - could be _never_. Who knows?”

“Milah, you have obligations,” he warned.

“What, love, honor and obey?” she mocked. “Well gee… guess you’re oh for three, so fuck my _obligations_!” she growled “ _You_ try dealing with that little shit by yourself for a while, and _see_ how eager _you_ are to be home.” 

She cut the call, and Gold was left sitting, his blood _boiling_ in fury, listening to the dead air on the other end of the phone.

* * *

Belle tried not to worry as she walked up to the school building and pressed the buzzer for the intercom, announcing herself when the voice of the secretary came out from the tiny box on the wall. She pulled the door open when it buzzed and showed her ID at the hatch, and then waited for the woman - a kindly looking older lady - to call down to the after school program facilitator to let them know she had arrived to pick up Bastion Gold. She didn’t have long to wait.

Clutching the hand of one of his teachers, a small boy with deep brown, slightly wavy hair and lightly tanned skin with a hint of healthy color came walking into the lobby. His face was perhaps a little rounder than Doctor Gold’s but he was unmistakably his son, right down to the shape of his mouth, and the perfect liquid chocolate of his brown eyes. He was dressed in jeans and sneakers, with a green v-neck sweater over a tan shirt. When he saw Belle sitting there, he waved and began to smile.

“ _I_ know her,” he said to his teacher. “I saw her in my Papa’s office one time. He’s her teacher.”

Belle’s heart lurched a little, but she stood up, offering a smile to Bastion, and to his teacher as the two came to a stop in front of her.

“I’m sorry we’re late,” she said apologetically.

“It’s all right,” the woman said, “Doctor Gold called to explain. It’s all good.” Then she looked down at Bastion and said, “All right Bastion, do you have everything?”

He nodded, and let go of his teacher’s hand, looking expectantly at Belle until she realized that he was waiting for her to hold out her own. She did, and he took it, squeezing hard. His hand was cold, and she covered it with her other hand. He looked up at her, his face a little ball of trust, and her still lurching heart melted the moment her eyes found his.

Belle and the teacher exchanged farewell’s and Bastion waved, then Belle fixed her attention back on Bastion with a smile and said, “Ready to go home?”

“Can I still have milk and a cookie?” he asked by way of an answer.

“Of course you can,” she said.

“But it’s late,” he frowned softly. “And when Mama and me get home late she says it will spoil my dinner.”

Belle began to lead him out to where she had left the car, and after looking thoughtful for a moment, said, “Well, I think dinner will be late today too, so I don’t think one cookie will hurt.”

Bastion grinned happily and bounced on his toes while he waited for her to unlock the car and open up the back door for him. He slipped off his backpack and tossed it onto the seat beside her own, and reached, without being told, for the seat belt which he had no trouble clipping into place.

“All safe, see?” he said.

“I can see,” Belle said with a smile and a tug on the seat belt, just to be sure. “And I’m glad. Mind your fingers now.”

“Finger in my lap!” Bastion echoed, and clasped his hands between his legs while Belle closed the door.

He seemed delighted when Belle got into the driver’s seat and turned around to look at him. She couldn’t think what she had done that had made him so happy until he said, “You do it like Papa.”

“Well, your Papa has some very good ideas,” she told him, chuckling a little.

The drive to the address Doctor Gold had given her didn’t take long. It was about as far as the drive from the university to the school had been. She pulled into the driveway and parked off to the side to leave room for Doctor Gold’s car when he got home, and then she got out and came around to open the door for Bastion. He went bounding up to the front porch, backpack forgotten, and Belle chuckled to herself as she reached into the car for both his and her own backpacks.

As she unlocked the door, and Bastion caught sight of _hers_ in her hands as well as him asked, “Do you have homework?”

Belle laughed softly. “Yes, I have a lot of homework, but I don’t have to do it all today. When you get to be as old as me, you have homework all the time, but you have a few days to do it.”

Bastion nodded and said, “And then Papa has to grade it all on the weekend, right?”

“Right,” she agreed, not really _knowing_ when Doctor Gold did his grading at home. “So, you gonna show me where the kitchen is, and we can have that cookie and some milk.”

Bastion grinned and ran off along the hall that stretch in front of them. “It’s _this_ way,” he called.

Belle followed more slowly, glancing up the stairs behind her and to the right, and into the lounge on the left, that seemed to be full to the brim with beautiful antique furniture in juxtaposition to the few child’s toys that she could see, and further along the doorway, looked at the closed doorway beyond the lounge.

By the time she reached the kitchen, Bastion already had the refrigerator door open, and was carefully, with both hands, lifting out the gallon bottle of milk.

“That’s the dining room,” he told her as if he had known that she was wondering about the closed door. “But we never eat in there, except on Christmas sometimes.” He shrugged as if it were no big deal, and looked expectantly at Belle as he hefted the bottle onto the kitchen table and climbed up into a chair.

Belle took out a plate, and a child’s cup from the draining rack, took a cookie from the jar - which helpfully said ‘cookies’ on the front, and brought the plate, and the empty cup to the table, filling it about half way up with milk. Then she put the bottle back into the refrigerator.

Bastion ate the cookie and drank the milk as though he were ravenously hungry, slowing in drinking only after several large gulps. Then licking his lips to clear away he milk mustache, he looked over at Belle thoughtfully, then asked, “Are you going to come and bring me home tomorrow too?”

“I don’t know,” Belle told him truthfully. “That will depend on your Mama and Papa, I expect.”

Bastion shrugged. “Mama said to Papa, ‘don’t wait up.’ I bet she went to see Kellan. He has a boat. Sometimes she takes me with her, but I don’t like it. They take naps, and I have to wear a puffy orange thing in case I fall in. She says to not tell Papa because he’ll worry.”

Belle clenched her teeth together as Bastion innocently confessed his mothers dirty little secret. Inside - though it was non of her business - she was _seething_ at the thought that his mother - Doctor Gold’s wife - would carry on what she assumed was an affair right under the nose of their son, and then use his obvious love for his father to compel the boy to keep it quiet. She wondered - worried - if Doctor Gold knew anyway.

“Well,” she said, managing to keep her voice even, “If your papa needs me to, I will come and bring you home from school as often as you like.”

Bastion grinned, finished up his milk, and looked up hopefully into Belle’s eyes, his own deep and soulful as he asked. “May I go and play now, and read before bed?”

Belle nodded, already clearing away the remnants of his snack and taking the dishes to the sink, watching him run off happily, before turning away to wash them. As she did, she worried at her lower lip, wondering if she should say something to Doctor Gold about what his son had revealed, and feeling her belly lurch at the thought of it. No, it was none of her business. Unless Gold asked her directly.

Her phone pinged, and she wiped her hands on a towel before pulling it out of her pocket. As if she had conjured him by thought alone, Doctor Gold had sent her a message.

_I forgot to tell you there is mac and cheese in the refrigerator. Could you feed Bae dinner and put him to bed at 6ish? I will be home around 7 with dinner. SG_.

The domesticity of the message stirred the already churning cauldron of her commingled anger, and her own feelings for Gold, and left her a little breathless for a moment. She forced herself to calm so that she could reply to the message. “Of course,” she typed. “Don’t worry, we’re getting on really well. He’s no trouble at all.”


	7. Last Straws

Though he tried his hardest not to take the events of the day out on his remaining classes, to say that he was surly and exacting would have been a blatant understatement. At least one student left his seminar in tears, and several of the others muttered behind his back about the size of the bug he had up his ass as they hurried to gather their things and leave the room.

“Well, I must say,” Hauter’s voice came from a corner in the back of the room, “that was perhaps the best example of how to put the fear of God into the entire student body, not to mention getting yourself censured.”

“Fuck you, Jeff,” he spat.

“You’re welcome, by the way,” Hauter answered. “Since I may have saved you from the latter of the two.”

“Miss Boyd?” Gold asked with a sigh, remembering the strip he’d torn from the young woman at her inane response to a question he’d asked of her.

“The same,” Jeff said. “I intercepted her in a torrent of waterworks, heading for the dean’s office. Managed to steer her toward her counselor instead. Girl’s—”

“Pregnant, yes, I’m aware,” Gold snapped, “but that doesn’t excuse her singular lack of engagement in a class supposed to be her major.”

“You really _do_ have a massive bug up your ass, don’t you?” Hauter got to his feet and walked to the door to flip the lock. “So… before you do your career irreparable damage, you’re going to tell me what’s going on.”

“What do _you_ care?” Gold growled, but it was entirely without conviction. If he could count anyone as a friend in the faculty, it would be Hauter.

Jeff shrugged. “Maybe I don’t,” he said. “Maybe I just love the schadenfreude.”

Gold sighed, and perched on the edge of the desk at the front of the seminar room. “It’s Bae,” he said.

“Well that’s a refreshing surprise,” Hauter said dryly, “I felt certain you were about to regale me with more of the fucked up exploits of that bitch wife of yours.”

“Do you want to hear this or not?” Gold snarked.

“Sorry,” Hauter held up his hand, “Go on. I promise not to interrupt again.”

Gold raised an eyebrow at that. If Jeff Hauter managed to keep that promise, he’d owe the man a whiskey.

“You know he’s not been doing well at school,” Gold began, continuing to slowly and quietly outline all of the consultations and testing, and doctor’s visits that Bastion had been attending, unfolding the picture in such a way that - he hoped - Hauter would put the pieces together and come up with the answer without him spelling it out.

“She _said_ that?” Hauter asked as he finally told him about the earlier conversation he’d had with Milah.

Gold nodded. “That and far more,” he said.

“Gold, seriously I—”

“I’m also pretty certain she’s having an affair,” Gold finally admitted. Saying the words out loud felt like some kind of failure, as though it were somehow his fault, that he had driven her away - hadn’t paid her enough attention, had been too harsh with the attention he _had_ given her.

“Ya think!” Hauter said, with no small amount of sarcasm. “Took you long enough to finally see it!”

“Oh, I saw, but I—”

“Don’t you _dare_ blame yourself for this.” Hauter interrupted.

“I was going to say I didn’t want to believe,” Gold said. “She’s a mother, for fuck’s sake!”

“Not much of one, it sounds like,” Hauter said, and Gold let his head fall onto his chest with a heavy sigh. “It’s time, Gold, you know it is.”

“Yes,” Gold said softly. “I…” he swallowed, “I’ve already spoken to my attorney, I just… She’s Bastion’s mother, Jeff,”

“And she _told_ you she doesn’t care to see to his wellbeing,” Hauter said, and put a hand onto his shoulder. “And that she doesn’t love you - if she ever did - can you live that lie?”

* * *

After putting Bastion to bed and reading him a story, as seven o’clock approached, Belle found herself growing nervous, but it was an excited kind of nervousness; almost expectant.

After making sure she had tidied up in the kitchen, she made her way through to the lounge, and tried to relax, pulling one of her text books from her backpack and starting to read. Reading was always good for helping her to do that, no matter what the subject of the book, nor whether fiction or non fiction, but today she couldn’t focus, couldn’t concentrate.

She jumped when she heard the sound of the front door, and set her book down on the table in front of her, all but leaping to her feet as though she shouldn’t have been sitting in the lounge, on Doctor Gold’s beautiful, antique furniture.

“Miss French,” his voice was soft, and he sounded a little weary. She turned to see him standing in the doorway, his over-stuffed brief case in one hand, and bags from Cacciatore’s restaurant in the other. He looked overburdened, and she hurried over to him.

“Let me help you with that,” she said, and as she reached his side, he allowed her to relieve him of one of the take-out bags. Her belly flipped as their fingers brushed together for an instant, and she felt as though she had been scalded.

“Thank you,” he said softly, “I trust you like Italian food?”

“One of my favorites,” she confessed softly. “But really, you didn’t need to go to all the trouble—”

“It is the least I could do,” he interrupted, “after all you have done for me today. Bae was no trouble at bed time, I hope?”

She smiled as they began walking towards the kitchen. “He was an absolute angel all evening,” she said. “He read his school book to me before he ate, and then I read _him_ a bed time story. He went out like a light.”

She saw a momentary look of surprise cross Doctor Gold’s face, and also the way he schooled it into an expression of calm a second later.

“I’m glad,” he said quietly, and she didn’t miss the tone of relief in his voice, barely there, but she felt so very attuned to each nuance of him since he had arrived home, since the brush of their hands, as though there were something already between them, bubbling under the veneer of careful politeness.

Doctor Gold set the bag he carried on the counter, and she followed his lead, setting the one she had taken from him beside it. The scent coming from the bags rolled over her then, and she realized how hungry she was. She watched as he began to bustle around the kitchen, warming plates, and opening a bottle or red wine, to allow it to breathe.

“Is there anything I can do?” she asked, feeling a little awkward just standing there and watching him work.

“Yes,” he said and glanced at her over his shoulder with a smile. “You can have a seat… please. You have already done more than you can know.”

“Honestly,” she said, but did as he asked and sat at the kitchen table, watching as he began lifting packages from the two bags. “It was my pleasure,” she said.

“I…” he hesitated, both in speaking and in the work he was doing with his hands to unpack the food. “I wonder if I might prevail on your for your further assistance, Miss French.”

“Belle,” she said. “Please, at least when it’s just… us.” She swallowed hard then, as her voice cracked a little on the last word of the request.

She watched as he appeared to weigh what she was asking of him, though she sensed there was more going through his mind. She wanted to prompt him, to repeat her plea, but held herself back. She wanted to give him time. He was obviously troubled, and it made her heart ache to think that anything could be bothering him.

Finally he nodded, and then said, very softly, barely a breath in truth, “Sabrael.”

Her heart fluttered wildly as she realized that he was giving her his name, and his permission for her to use it. She swallowed again, and wanted to reach out to him, touch him, take whatever burden it was that he was carrying and ease it from him, for a time.

“You… wanted to ask me something?” she said instead.

He sighed softly, and then said, “I know that I have already asked if you would help Bae with his school work, tutor him.” He paused for a moment, and began serving the food onto the warmed plates, as though the distraction would help him to say what it was that was running through his mind, and Belle worried at her lower lip with her teeth. “But I… wonder if I might ask you…”

He faltered again, and Belle couldn’t stand to see him struggling. She got up from the table, came over to him and laid a gentle hand onto his arm to halt his movement, so close to him then that she could feel the heat coming from him, and the tension in his body, which was there even _before_ her touch.

“Doctor Gold… Sabrael,” she savored the taste of his name on her lips. She felt herself flush with color and with something far deeper, more insistent. “You can ask me anything. What’s wrong?”


	8. Truth and Dare

Gold felt what he was to ask, what he was saying, was wrong even as the words came tumbling out of his mouth, but he couldn’t help himself in the face of Belle’s genuine concern. He couldn’t remember the last time - or _ever_ \- that anyone, no… amend that, he told himself, any _woman_ had shown him even a modicum of care. It was both a relief and painful at the same time. Even so, to involve Belle, his _student_ in his personal life was…

“For several weeks now, Mrs Gold and I have been… somewhat estranged and—”

Belle held up her hand to stop him, and he did at once, his entire body almost sagging in relief with the thought that she was about to tell him that this was all none of her business, and he shouldn’t be speaking of it to her, no matter that she’d just collected his son from school and was to be the boy’s tutor.

“Before you go on, Sabrael,” she said softly, and he felt the tension prickle at the base of his spine again, “I feel I should tell you something Bastion said to me earlier.”

He looked into her face then, into her eyes and thought he saw the same kind of war going on inside of her as was inside of himself. “Go on,” he said slowly.

“Bastion said that his mother often took him with her to visit a man he named ‘Kellon,’ on a boat, and that they take ‘naps’ together… and that he has to wear what _he_ called a ‘puffy orange thing’ in case he falls in.” She shook her head, “I could make assumptions as to what all of that means, but…”

Gold shook his head as she trailed off. He didn’t need for her to spell it out, and it was the confirmation he needed, but didn’t want. He sighed, shook his head again and spat with heavy sarcasm, “At least they put him in a fucking life vest.”

He felt Belle’s fingers tighten over his arm, and he took a deep breath, and then covered her hand with his as she said, “You don’t seem all that surprised.”

“I’m… not. Not really,” he said. “I had my attorney draw up papers weeks ago, just didn’t feel that it was… proper to file them; like I didn’t have reason, but… today my son’s doctors suggested that his learning difficulties are not because of autism or ADHD or any other ill, but because of his emotional interactions with his mother. She refused to hear it of course - even went so far as to dare to call him retarded, and then, just before I called you—”

He broke off, realizing he’d said too much from the sharp look that had entered Belle’s blue eyes. He swallowed and shook his head with an apology. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t involve you in my personal problems, I—”

“I don’t mind,” she told him, “and I promise it will go no further than the two of us.”

He saw sincerity in her gaze and once again his belly tightened. He already knew - and had been fighting with himself for some time - that he thought her beautiful, but to know that she cared made that fight all the more difficult - near impossible.

“But you’re my student,” he argued, trying to hold on to the last shred of his rapidly crumbling shield.

“Sabrael, when we’re at the university, yes, I’m your student, but… here, I’m an adult, with my own mind, and the responsibility for my own thoughts and actions and feelings. Please don’t feel like you’re taking some kind of advantage of me. You’re not. I’m happy to listen, and I am happy to help with Bastion, if that’s what you were leading up to asking before all of this came out?”

“Yes,” he nodded, before going on, “Yes, actually that’s exactly what I was going to say. I… spoke to my attorney earlier today and told him to proceed, and first thing tomorrow, I have a locksmith coming to change all the locks. Forgive me, I took the liberty of examining your schedule, and I wanted to ask if—”

“Yes,” she said before he could finish, and then he watched her blush, and something in him snapped, He reached out hesitant fingertips toward the redness in her face, as she went on, “I’d be delighted to pick up Bastion from school - as often as you like - I can study here just as easily as the library, and I’d be on hand to help with his homework too…” she trailed off again as his fingertips made contact with her still reddened cheek.

“Belle…?” Gold asked softly, and watched as she swallowed and leaned almost imperceptibly into his touch.

“I… um,” she began then faltered, before beginning again in a rush as though trying to get all the words out before she could stop herself. “I know I shouldn’t… probably… because things seem complicated enough in your life as it is but I have to be honest with you, Doctor Gold, and—”

“Sabrael,” he corrected. His insides felt as though they were on fire, and he knew he was holding his breath against her words; against the fight he was losing as his fingertips left her cheek to slide into her hair as his palm cupped her cheek.

“Right, yeah…” she swallowed again, “But you… I…” she blew out a breath and in the next instant berated herself. “God, this is ridiculous, I’m behaving like a middle-schooler with her first crush, I—”

“I feel the same way,” he interrupted her discomfort, sounding more self assured than he felt. “I have for some time, and I’ve been fighting with myself because… well, the reasons are obvious, really.”

* * *

At his words, the breath left Belle in a rush and all of the feelings that were bubbling inside of her, and the sensations scalding her at his touch settled deep in her core leaving her aching for greater contact, and when she looked up at him, her eyes fell almost immediately to his lips, wanting to kiss him so badly it almost hurt.

“They… might be obvious,” she said, her voice a little unsteady, “but I think we should still speak them, I… I don’t want there to be any misunderstandings… not between _us_.”

He looked at her for a long time, as though he were contemplating her words, frozen in the moment, almost balanced on a knife edge.

“You are right, of course,” he said quietly.

“Then…?”

“I have fought my feelings because I didn’t trust them - or myself; because, as you said, at the university you are my student, and whilst anything that could have happened between us wouldn’t have been illegal, it would certainly have been… unprofessional.”

“Could have?” she echoed, soft and wistful in her tone, almost mournful. “You mean still to fight?”

He sighed then, and swallowed, his adam’s apple bobbing up and down before he said, “I don’t want to, but—”

“Then don’t,” she said, and shuffled a step closer to him.

“—but anything we might start now would be… so very complicated,” he finished.

“I don’t care,” she said before she could stop herself.

“But I _do_ ,” he said. “I don’t want you getting dragged in to what is _bound_ to be an acrimonious divorce. I don’t want your reputation dragged through the mud along with mine.” He sighed again. “On top of that, _here_ you’re my employee and that’s—”

“No,” she snapped rather more forcefully than she intended, and though she tried to soften her voice as she went on, she didn’t think she had been at all successful. “I won’t take payment for looking after Bastion. He deserves to be cared for and I’m _happy_ to be someone that does that for him. So, _here_ I’m just someone who cares enough to do the right thing… and _here_ I’m someone that wants… to explore what we could have… together.”

She felt the shiver that went through Gold’s body and deeper than that, through the contact of his fingers, still laced into her hair.

“You… don’t know what you’re saying,” he argued, but she could hear the cracks in his resolve.

“I told you, I’m an adult, and I know my own feelings,” she said, “and whatever happens - whatever we have to go through, you’re _worth_ it; Bastion is worth it.”

“Belle,” he breathed her name as though it were a prayer, and leaned down to rest his forehead against hers. “I _don’t_ deserve it; don’t deserve _you_.”

“Well,” she said, and gathering her courage in both her hands, pressed her palms against his chest, the silk of his shirt hot against her fingertips as she slipped the touch upward toward his shoulders. “That’s unfortunate, because you’re stuck with me.”

She felt his fingers tighten in her hair, the imperceptible shift in the tilt of his head as she rose up on her toes just a little, and the heat of his breath against her already tingling lips; the softness of his barely touching hers before…

A tiny little cry was the only warning either of them received before a small bundle barreled into Belle’s legs, wrapping his arms around them and holding tightly.

“You’re still here!”

She heard such relief in Bastion’s voice that her heart dissolved, and she almost didn’t notice the way that Gold released her with a guilty start and moved away to a respectable distance.

“Bae…” he began, but Belle shook her head, and somehow managing to dislodge Bastions grip on her legs, turned and crouched down to him, taking him in at a glance, then wrapping him up in her arms.

“Of course I’m still here,” she said softly, and reached up with a hand to wipe at the tears she saw on his face. “It’s all right. Did you have a bad dream?”

Bastion nodded wordlessly, and leaned against her, pressing his head into her shoulder and sagged as though he were exhausted. Belle looked up at Gold as she ran her hand over Bastion, and found him wet. She mouthed the word to Gold. He nodded, and crouched beside her, encircling both of them with his arms.

“How about we get you clean and dry, Son?” he said softly.

Bastion shifted so that he pulled his father into the hug he was sharing with Belle, and whispered softly, “I’m sorry, Papa. I didn’t mean to.”

Belle watched, her heart breaking all over again as Gold lifted Bastion from her arms to hold him close. “You’re not in trouble, Bae,” he said. “You’re _never_ in trouble. It was an accident.”

“But… Mama…” Bastion’s voice hitched with a sob.

“Won’t hurt you any more,” Gold murmured softly, further twisting the broken pieces of Belle’s heart. “So, how about it? Nice warm bath… clean pj’s…”

“Miss Belle,” Bastion almost pleaded with his father, and Gold caught her eye over his son’s shoulder.

Belle reached out to stroke Bastion’s hair, and said softly, “Are you kidding? The chance to share another bed time story? I’m in!”

Bastion smiled, and threw an arm around Belle’s neck, pulling her back into the joint embrace only a second after she caught Gold wiping away a tear from his cheek.


	9. Jigsaw

Gold couldn’t help but notice that he and Belle worked like a team, as though they had been doing this their whole lives. While he ran the bath for Bae, Belle made a start stripping the wet bedclothes from the boy’s bed.

He heard her descend the stairs, no doubt taking the soiled sheets to the washing machine, confirmed a moment later when he began to hear the hum of the motor as the sheets began to wash.

They switched then, and he smiled as Belle came in to watch over Bae in the tub while he retrieved clean sheets and blankets from the linen closet, made up Bae’s bed and picked out two sets of pajamas.

By the time he returned to the bathroom, Belle already had his son out of the bath, wrapped in a towel and she was rubbing him dry. It was seamless, and it made his heart clench.

“Here’s Papa,” Belle said softly, and he smiled at both of them as Bae looked up at him.

“Hey, little man,” Gold greeted him, and then held up the pajamas one set in each hand. “Dinosaurs, or big cats?”

“Dinosaurs!” Bae cried out happily, pointing at the bundle of decorated cotton in Gold’s left hand.

He chuckled. “Dinosaurs it is.”

“All dry here,” Belle announced, and Gold’s still clenched heart melted as she planted a swift kiss on the side of Bae’s head, before gently easing him in his direction, emptying and rinsing the tub while he helped Bae into the dinosaur pajamas. They were ready at the same time. Everything they did just fit together like pieces of a puzzle and it wasn’t long before they were snuggling Bae back down into bed, one of them on each side.

Bastion yawned almost as soon as they tucked the covers around him, sleepily demanding the promised story. “Whipperty Stourie,” he murmured.

Gold chuckled, and glancing at Belle before turning his attention back to his son, began the story, allowing his voice to soften, and his accent to come to the fore.

“Once, there wa’ a gentleman lived in a fine, fine house,” he began, his voice rising and falling in a sing song way.

“And he married a beautiful lady,” Bae asked and answered, both at the same time.

“Aye, son,” Gold confirmed, “He marriet a pretty wee lassie, as was delicately raised. In her husband’s house she found everything to be fine… fine tables an’ chairs, fine glasses, and fine curtains, but… her husband expected her to spin twelve hanks o’ thread each day, and’ truth be… she couldnae spin a bit!”

“Oh no!” Belle gasped softly, as she ran her fingers through Bae’s hair. “What happened?”

“Husband went…” Bae whispered, beginning to sound sleepy.

“One day, aye, he gaed awa’ fr’a journey,” he all but sang, his tone softer yet. “But he telt her that by his return, he expected she’d ha’ spun a hundret hanks ‘o thread.”

“And she was sad,” Bae offered, eyes closed and breathing starting to slow, to even out… on the edge of sleep.

“I bet she was,” Belle agreed, and Gold looked up and gave her a sad smile.

“She took a walk along the hillside, till she cam’ tae a big flat stane, and there she sat down and grat. By and by she heard a strain o’ fine sma’ music, coming as it were frae aneath the stane, and, on turning it up, she saw a cave below, where there were sitting six wee ladies in green gowns, ilk ane o’ them spinning on a little wheel, and singing,”

_“Little kens my dame at hame_   
_That Whippety Stourie is my name.”_

By the time he finished the rhyme, Gold’s voice was a whisper, and Bae was fully asleep, and unable to help himself Gold reached over and took Belle’s hand

“Thank you, Belle,” he said just as softly. “I… I could… I could never believe it could be like this.”

He saw her brown draw down, and her nose wrinkle adorably in confusion. “Like what?”

“Caring… for Bastion… with someone… else.” He stammered.

“Your wife—?”

He cut her off with a shake of his head. “She never cared to do _anything_ together where Bae was concerned. “Complained that she had him the whole day long, and that when we were home, he was _my_ responsibility.”

She sighed, and squeezed the fingers of his hand, that still held hers.

“You’re a good father, Sabrael,” she told him softly, and then tugging on his arm to encourage him to stand as _she_ stood, added, “You’re tired and hungry. He’ll sleep now, I’m sure of it. So, let’s head downstairs, and have this beautiful meal you brought home.”

**

Belle was very aware of Gold as he moved around the kitchen, warming plates, reheating the food - and Gold refused to use the microwave in favor of using the oven to slowly reheat the meal - opening a bottle of expensive looking wine, and refusing to let her lift a finger to help. Instead, he insisted that she sit at the kitchen table while he did everything.

“You’ve done enough,” he told her with the gentle brush of his fingertips against her cheek. “More than enough.”

She felt the touch flow through her, wakening her to his nearness; wakening her to a want to be closer still; to continue from where they had been interrupted and let the tides sweep them both away.

“Belle?”

She blinked, realizing belatedly that he had been talking to her, and she hadn’t answered.

“Sorry, I…” she trailed off, biting her lip.

“I’ve asked too much,” he said at once. “You’re tired of course you are, I—”

“I was just… thinking,” she told him, feeling the color rise in her cheeks. “About before.”

“Before?” His confusion sounded genuine, rather than the adolescent teasing she was used to, which of course made sense because he wasn’t some fumbling idiot. He was a grown man, mature and sophisticated… experienced.

“Before Bastion came downstairs,” she said by way of explanation, and felt herself blush even more.

Gold sighed.

“Forgive me,” he murmured, “It was wrong of me to take advan—”

“You were _not_ taking advantage,” she spoke so adamantly that Gold took a step back. His sudden movement startled her, and a part of her wondered at the cause of it - beyond her own actions - so when she continued, she spoke more softly, moved more slowly, reaching for his hands, which he gave into hers hesitantly.

“I _wanted_ you to kiss me,” she said. “Everything I said then still applies. I’m a grown woman.” She sighed then, looking into the doubt she still saw in his eyes. She squeezed his hands. “Sabrael, I’ve learned the hard way that I can’t let anyone else decide my fate. What I allow to happen, happens because it’s what I want.”

“Gaston?” he asked softly. Belle hesitated, and then nodded.

“So,” she said softly, “You didn’t and you _aren’t_ taking advantage if it’s something I want.”

He gently pulled his hands from hers then, and took her by the upper arms to draw her nearer. It was what she wanted and yet still she felt as though she were trembling like a windblown sapling’s new spring leaves. She leaned against him as he took her in his arms, her palms flat against his chest, sliding upward to rest against the front of his shoulders.

“It’s what I want too,” he said, and his voice was deep, almost hoarse.

She drew in a breath, and it smelled and tasted of him; woody and spicy with a smooth caramel bite and she pressed closer as she felt his fingers slide into the back of her hair, gently teasing at her scalp.

She tipped her head up to bring her mouth within a breath of his, lips tingling as before, anticipating the remembered softness as their breath mingled. Her lips softened beneath his as his mouth took hers, gently at first, slowly, coaxing. The tenderness of his kiss sent a welcome wave of weakness through her limbs ahead of a tsunami of heat that lodged in her belly and turned her to liquid fire. 

Her fingers gripped the front of his shirt and she opened to him as the kiss deepened, his tongue possessing her mouth, tangling with hers as she stroked his in turn.

The two of them turned and shuffled the few steps across the kitchen, and she felt her back pressed against counter with the heat and the hardness of him tight against her belly. She moaned softly into the kiss, already breathless but uncaring, allowing the light headed tingling to mix with the flood of her own desire as she released the fabric of his shirt enough to slide her fingers against the buttons holding it fastened shut.

One button, two, the brush of skin against her fingertips and—

A sharp, insistent bleeping sounded from somewhere beside them, breaking the moment, and Gold pulled back from the kiss as breathless as she.

Their foreheads touched and Belle, although frustrated, saw then felt the humor in the moment and chuckled breathlessly, just as Gold did the same. 


End file.
